


Everday Life

by astrophilio



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Different species, Other, Racism, Travelling Bard, Underground rebels, corrupted government, custom cultures, different cultures, joe is confused all the time, joe-centric, magic racism, no beta we die like men, nothing happens on tuesdays, society is screwed, spoilers in the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25615324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrophilio/pseuds/astrophilio
Summary: He sat on the edge of the cliff, watching the sun rise in the distance. It painted the sky in hues of pink and orange and yellow, the horizon glowing with the light of the sun just barely cresting over the edge.It was these moments that he enjoyed the most. The comfortable quiet at dawn, waiting for the world to wake up. The cicadas falling quiet, the birds beginning to chirp quietly to each other.It made it seem as though the world wasn’t falling apart around him.Things were still ripping at the seams, of course. The monarchy was still horrendously corrupt. Magic users were still being attacked for something they had no control over. A revolution was still brewing, plotting the downfall of the royalty.But he could ignore that, at least, while he was up in the mountains watching the sunrise.
Kudos: 12





	Everday Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying this out, who knows what'll happen :)

Travelling the trails on the slopes of the Auxawarid mountains was a different life, compared to others.

Joe only saw people once every few days. Some were foreign traders, heading to the capital, Tarme, for trade. Others were making the religious migration north, to worship Dhudos in hopes of good harvests and commerce.

Most had been willing to let him travel with them until their paths diverged. So long as he pulled his weight and didn’t ask too many questions, they were happy to give him a place to sleep and something to eat.

He didn’t mind the isolation. It gave him more time to think, more time to write. Most bards were lucky to have that much time to themselves, time to spend following their creative endeavors.

Still, he was willing to take any interaction he could get.

Which explained why Joe was sitting on the edge of a worn path, the contents of his pack strewn about. His glasses were cracked in the corners, and he didn’t doubt that most, if not all, of his coin had been stolen.

Joe probably should’ve gotten his things together. They were sitting out in the middle of the path, ripe for the picking.

Instead he was scribbling away in a notebook, humming absentmindedly. His other hand was fiddling with a stray scrap of fabric. His foot tapped incessantly on the dirt.

Just another Friday night. Or at least he assumed it was Friday. It could’ve been Tuesday, but then again, nothing happened on Tuesday, so today wasn’t Tuesday.

Either way, all was well.


End file.
